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vl * 

THE 

YOUNG PUPIL’S 


KEEPSAKE. 



BY A TEACHES. 

. S /T 9 


The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdotn . — PROV. IX. 10 . 


BOSTON AND CAMBRIDGE: 
JAMES MUNROE AND COMPANY. 
1861 . 




Entered, according’ to Act of Congress, in the year 1860, by 
James Munroe and Company, 

In the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of 
Massachusetts. 


CAMBRIDGE: 
THURSTON & MILES 

Printers. 


CONTENTS 


— • — 

TAGE 

Mira and Emma, - -- -- -- 9 
The Boy Begging for his Blind Father, - - 16 
A Dialogue between Idleness and Industry, - - 17 

The Youth and Fortune, ----- 20 

On Writing Composition, - - - - - 21 

A Flower Nipped in the Bud, - - - - 26 

Vacation, - -- -- -- - 28 

Think before you Speak, ----- 29 

Discretion, - -- -- -- - 31 

Clouds, - -- -- -- - 35 

The Approach of Winter, ----- 36 

Knowledge Ennobles, ------ 38 

Mountains, - -- -- -- -43 

Parting Song for a School, - 45 

My First Boat Ride; - - - - - - 46 

An Address to my Pupils, ----- 48 

An Evening Song, - -- -- --58 

Who are the Happiest? ----- 61 

Search for Happiness, ------ 63 



























• 







































































































■ 








































ADVERTISEMENT 


Wjriting books is so common in this age of 
improvement, that the Author of this little work is 
aware that an apology is due in presenting it to 
the notice of the public. 

It was written in brief intervals of leisure, when 
other avocations were not too pressing, and is 
mostly composed of selections from her earlier 
writings ; several of the articles being written 
between the age of fourteen and eighteen years. 

During several years that the Author has spent 
in teaching, she has often had occasion to select 
books as prizes for her scholars, and has sometimes 
found a difficulty in selecting those exactly suited 
to their tastes and capacity, and having at the same 
time a good moral tendency. 

This has suggested the following pages, which 


4 


ADVERTISEMENT. 


the Author would respectfully dedicate to her present, 
and former pupils ; and if a perusal of the senti- 
ments expressed is the means of exciting in any 
mind nobler desires, and higher purposes, as well as 
of affording pleasure to a passing hour, she will feel 
amply rewarded for writing them. 

S. C. D. 

Oakland Vale, Feb., 1857. 


THE 



KEEPSAKE. 


MIRA AND EMMA: OR, TIIE BASENESS OF ENVY. 

On the Eastern bank of the Connecticut, 
which flows through the pleasant village of S., 
Mass., once stood a neat school-house, where 
the children and youth were wont, from day 
to day, to resort for the purpose of u culling 
the sweets of knowledge,” under the guidance 
of an excellent and beloved instructress. 

Among those who usually assembled there, 
were two little girls, about eight years of age, 
whom we will call Mira and Emma. 

These children belonged to the same class. 
The countenances of both were interesting, and 
it would have been difficult for a stranger to 
1 


10 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


have decided which was the best scholar. They 
were evidently desirous of excelling in learning, 
and no one would have suspected either of pos- 
sessing an unamiable temper. But it was not 
long before a little circumstance served to show 
that one at least was capable of indulging wrong 
feelings. 

As an encouragement for her pupils to study, 
the teacher had promised a reward to those who 
should recite accurately all their lessons during 
the week. 

Mira and Emma, who were not often censured 
for imperfect lessons, devoted themselves with 
renewed ardor to their studies. 

Saturday forenoon at length arrived. It was 
the day on which the rewards were to be dis- 
tributed. Mira, with several others of the class, 
received as a present, a book, containing several 
interesting stories, and pieces of poetry, and 
embellished by fine engravings. But Emma 
obtained none, because she had, by a little inat- 
tention for once, recited badly. 

Her teacher had remarked a look of displeas- 


MIRA AND EMMA. 


11 


ure on her countenance when the rewards were 
given, and kindly reproving her for it, told her 
that she was sorry that she could have no prize 
this time, hut that she would probably do better 
again. But she went pouting to her seat, and it 
was evident to all that Envy was rankling in her 
heart. At noon the children were dismissed, 
and, as usual on Saturday, enjoyed a half lioli- 
day. 

No sooner had Emma left the school-room, 
than she began to show ill temper towards her 
more fortunate companions, and particularly 
towards Mira, the companion of her daily walks 
to school. The parents of these little girls were 
neighbors, but those of Mira were dependent 
upon their daily toil for subsistence, while those 
of Emma were able to grant her almost any 
indulgence that wealth could afford. But not- 
withstanding the different circumstances of these 
children, they had ever delighted to engage 
together in the same pleasures and pursuits. 
Now a change was visible. Emma, after call- 
ing her friend hard names, proceeded alone, with 


12 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


sullen countenance, on her way home. Mira, 
with a light heart, — - for the innocent are never 
really unhappy, — was soon at her mother’s door 
exhibiting her prize. 

“But, mother,” added she, “ do you not think 
that I had better give it to Emma, as she feels 
so badly that she did not get it ?” 

“ I think, my dear, that you had better keep 
it ; for it would not show gratitude to your kind 
teacher to give away the present that she has 
bestowed upon you.” 

“ True, mother, I did not think of that,” and 
Mira sat down, and very quietly perused her 
treasure. 

Monday morning again came, and found the 
children assembled as usual, waiting for their 
teacher. She soon arrived, and after the usual 
salutations, and when all were quietly seated, 
she called Emma to her, and enquired the cause 
of her unpleasant conduct towards her compan- 
ions on Saturday afternoon. 

Now Emma did not know that her teacher 
had observed her, and she promptly replied, — 

“ I have ill-treated no one.” 


MIRA AND EMMA. 


13 


“But think a moment,” continued her teacher, 
u and tell me, did you not call Mira by hard 
names ? ” 

“ No, ma’am, I did not.” 

The scholars looked at each other in surprise, 
and Miss R. was then compelled to inform her of 
what she had observed, and there stood Emma 
all in confusion before the school, detected in a 
falsehood. It was her first attempt at dissimu- 
lation, and her conscience keenly reproved her, 
but pride kept her from confessing her fault, and 
she began to make excuses. 

a Mira was so vain, and behaved so very pro- 
vokingly towards me that I could not love her,” 
she added. 

“ I did not observe that,” continued Miss R. ; 
“ but even if it were so, that is no reason why 
you should treat her ill. We are commanded in 
God’s Holy Word to love even our enemies. 
And do you remember what is there said about 
lying ? Have you ever heard of the story of 
Ananias and Sapphira ? how, for attempting to 

deceive, they w r ere struck dead ? ” 

1 * 


14 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


44 Yes, ma’am,” replied Emma, in a subdued 
tone of voice. 

44 And are you not afraid of offending God 
when you speak what you know is not true ? ” 

Emma made no answer, and Miss R. went on. 

44 I am very sorry that you have, by indulging 
an envious temper, been rendered so unhappy. 
One fault usually leads to another. Had you 
not erred in your conduct towards your school- 
mates, you would not have told the base false- 
hood for which I am obliged to reprove you. 
Do you remember the story of 4 The Boy and the 
Wolf,’ which you read not long since from the 
4 Young Reader ? ’ ” 

44 Yes, ma’am.” 

44 Those who are guilty of falsehood lose the 
confidence of their associates, and often are not 
believed when they tell the truth. I trust that 
in future 4 Truth ’ will be your motto, and that 

* You’ll always try 
To act as shall not need a lie.’ 

Perhaps you may recollect the story of 4 George 
Washington and his Hatchet.’ He was not afraid 


MIRA AND EMMA. 


15 


to tell tlie truth. When interrogated by his 
father as to some damage that had been done to 
a favorite cherry tree in his garden, he replied, 
4 1 can’t tell a lie, papa, you know I can’t tell a 
lie ! I cut it with my little hatchet ! ’ All per- 
sons of noble minds, who gain the respect of the 
wise and good, despise falsehood. And ever re- 
member that an envious disposition is the source 
of much misery to its possessor. You ought to 
rejoice on account of the merit and success of 
others, instead of envying them their good for- 
tune. Thus you would gain their love and 
esteem, and promote your own interest and hap- 
piness. It is a maxim that is true in all cases : 

4 By benefiting others* we benefit ourselves,’ 
and an injury intended for another is often visit- 
ed upon the perpetrator of it.” 

Emma, after confessing her fault, and prom- 
ising amendment, was sent to her seat, humble 
and subdued ; nor did she soon forget the trouble 
that her envious disposition had caused her ; and 
she ever afterwards exhibited a better temper. 


16 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


THE BOY BEGGING EOE HIS BLIND EATHER. 

(from the german.) 

A blind man and poor 
Stands out by your door, — 

It is my father dear — 

It is his harp ye hear — 

See him trembling stand 
On the cold damp sand ! 

Look kindly now on his grey hair, 

And give, if ye have ought to spare : 

Pity him ! 

His eyes the day-light — 

Not the bright clear night 
Can see ; — nor the tears now 
That for him freely flow; 

Nor the kindly glance 
Giv’n sometimes perchance; — 

Nor e’en the hand that soothes his grief — 

Ah pity have, and give relief : — 

Pity him ! 

Pity my father’s need ! 

For soon I know indeed 
Kind Death calls us away 
To the bright realms of day ; — 


A DIALOGUE, ETC. 


IT 


There’ll he see again. 

Free from want and pain, — 
Then forsake not my father poor ; 

Nor turn him helpless from your door ! 
Pity him ! 


A DIALOGUE BETWEEN IDLENESS AND INDUSTRY. 

Long ago, in the days of fable, these two dis- 
tinguished personages arrived on a balmy spring 
morning at the foot of “ the hill of science,” 
when the following conversation took place be- 
tween them : — 

Idleness. “ What a long, steep hill we have 
now to ascend ! I think that we had better rest 
here in this beautiful shaded valley until the 
heat of the day is over, it will be so tedious to 
proceed !” 

Industry. “ That will never do for me ! 
My motto is, 4 Onward and Upward.’ I think 
if we proceed slowly and cautiously, we shall 


18 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


find the walk on the hill-side quite as pleasant 
as sauntering here in the vale. We shall be 
cheered by the most beautiful prospects, and the 
birds sing melodiously.” 

Id. “ I cannot perceive what you find so en- 
chanting on that rugged, barren hill. I have 
often been af far as here before, but the pros- 
pect looked so discouraging and uninviting, that 
I resolved to wait until it had changed for the 
better, or until my strength had increased, so 
that I could advance without difficulty ; but I 
fear that I may never be able to climb its steep 
side. It now looks steeper than ever ! ” 

In. u It is true that the ascent at first appears 
rugged and laborious, but as we become accus- 
tomed to the way, it becomes more pleasant 
and easy, until at length we should be unwilling 
to exchange the route for one of less difficulty. 
But it will not answer for us to linger here. 
See ! there are some of our companions nearly 
at the top!” 

Id. “Well, you can go if you like to ! As for 
me, I intend to reach the summit sometime, but 
mean to take a fair and easy course. What you 


A DIALOGUE, ETC. 


19 


say seems all very plausible, but I fancy that for 
the present I can enjoy myself very well under 
this shady tree.” 

In. “ Well, if you do not choose to accom- 
pany me, good bye ! I cannot allow you to de- 
tain me any longer. I perceive that I have 
already spent a full hour with you in loitering.” 

So saying, with a quick step, Industry began 
to walk up the hill, and, by advancing with great 
caution, was soon able to overtake some of her 
less diligent companions. She entered the fair 
temple of Truth illumined by the rays of Intel- 
ligence, and with Peace and Contentment for 
her companions, reposed herself until desirous of 
further investigations. Her former friends gazed 
after her with admiration and envy. 

But Idleness still lingered in the valley, and 
it was not long before her more aspiring compan- 
ions disdained to bestow a look upon her. I be- 
lieve that she never attempted to ascend but a 
little way the hill so distasteful to her; and I 
afterwards learned, that, in groping about, she 
made an unlucky step, and plunged headlong 
into the gulf of Oblivion. 


TIIE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


THE YOUTH AND FORTUNE. 

(FROM THE SPANISH.) 

On the brink of a well 
Where fresh herbs grew, 

And flow’rs deck’d the ground. 
Red, yellow, and blue. 

With their soft fragrance 
The senses to please, 

Slept a young traveller, 

Quite at his ease. 

But Fortune in wandering 
Chanc’d him to ’spy, 

And rais’d, that he heard, 

A dolorous cry: 

“ Insensate awake! 

See ! Do you not fear 
Th’ imminent danger 
That threatens you here ? ’ ’ 

“ Should you now only 
Just turn yourself round. 

You would very soon, 

I fancy, be drowned ! ” 

“ It is for such reckless 
Offenders as thee, 

That I very often 
Must slander’d be.” 


ON WRITING COMPOSITION. 


21 


“ Some call me deceitful. 
And changeable too, — 
Others adverse; yet 
I often prove true : 
Changes of fortune 
Sure there may be : — 
Worse mis’ries you may 
Quite often see : ” — 

“ Call those misfortunes ! 
What if they proceed 
From reckless conduct ? 

I know not indeed ! 

But cannot e’er think 
That I am to blame, — 
Nor should such a course 
Detract from my fame.” 


ON WRITING COMPOSITION. 

O, how I dread writing composition ! I can’t 
write ! I don’t mean to go into school on Wed- 
nesday afternoon ! Do give me a subject ! I 
can think of nothing to write about ! Tell 


2 


22 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


me how to begin, and perhaps I can go on ! 
O, I am sure I can write nothing fit to be read ! 
There is Mary S., and Susan G., and almost all 
of the scholars that can write over a whole sheet 
of paper in a very short time, and it takes me 
at least a day to write half a dozen lines, and 
then how flat they sound ! I have almost a 
mind to say that I will never try to write. But 
then the teacher requires it, and how can I 
escape the task ? 

How often do we hear expressions like these 
used by the majority of school-children, just 
beginning to compose. But they seem to have 
wrong ideas of the object of w r riting. They 
suppose that they must at the commencement 
write essays, as good, perhaps, as they read in 
books, writen by persons of great learning and 
judgment, and which may have cost years of 
labor and study to produce. 

A young Miss sits down alone to write. She 
has not thought of a subject, and after thinking 
of perhaps fifty different ones, none of which 
she understands, she is about to resign the task 


ON WRITING COMPOSITION. 


23 


as hopeless, when she happens to think of u an 
old book which nobody has seen,” which has 
some admirable themes. She gets the book, 
finds a piece that was perhaps written by a 
Newton, or Bacon, or some old divine. She 
takes a little from one place, and a little from 
another, until she thinks that her composition is 

long enough, and on the appointed day she reads 

% 

it before the school. 

The teacher at once knows that it is borrow- 
ed, and perhaps she receives a reproof. That 
discourages her, and her next resort is to get 
some one to write for her. Thus she goes on 
from one term to another, until her school-days 
are over, when she hardly feels competent to 
write a business letter, or a common note. Be- 
cause she could not write in the most interesting 
manner, she would not write at all. Now it is 
not to be expected that a young person of limit- 
ed means for improvement, and who has but just 
entered “ the broad field of science,” will write 
with facility on every subject, however deep and 
intricate ; but there is no one of sound mind so 


24 


TIIE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


destitute of knowledge and cajmcity, as not to 
be able to express thoughts in writing upon suit- 
able subjects. 

The following simple directions, written in 
my early school-days, I have found of much use : 

1. Do not endeavor to write upon a subject 
that you cannot understand. After you have 
selected a familiar one, do not commence writ- 
ing until you have contemplated it in all its 
relations. Then write as fast as you please, 
taking care not to digress too much. Be not 
too anxious to have a long composition. If you 
can get all your thoughts into a small space, so 
much the better, as you will by that means save 
time and paper, and your composition will be 
more interesting. Endeavor to express your 
thoughts in so conspicuous a manner, that all 
can understand them. Some seem to imagine 
that it is the mark of great profundity of mind, 
to write so that no one can understand them. 
Whatever learning or penetration such may pos- 
sess, it is certain none will be benefitted by their 
writings. 


ON WRITING COMPOSITION. 25 

2. After finishing your composition, lay it 
aside, and at some future time carefully review 
it ; you can then observe its redundancies and 
defects, and correct them. 

These simple directions, faithfully followed, 
have made the most instructive and elegant 
authors, and doubtless they will enable almost 
any one to write agreeably. By practice and 
perseverance in the acquisition of knowledge, 
style is improved. 

But perhaps it will be asked, “ What is the 
benefit of so much effort ? ” “I neither ex- 
pect nor intend to make a book, and I do not 
see the use of writing composition.” 

In reply, I would say, that by expressing our 
ideas in writing, we learn to think accurately, 
and persons frequently have to write letters of 
business or friendship, and other occasions are 
numerous in which the ability to write an article 
correctly is of much benefit to us. But the chief 
advantage of composing is the discipline it gives 
to the mind. 


2 * 


26 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


A FLOWER NIPPED IN THE BED. 

It was on one of the loveliest days of early 
Autumn, that I strayed, solitary, from the noise 
and bustle of the village, to enjoy the mild, re- 
freshing breezes, and the beauty of Nature’s 
variegated scenery. The deep verdure of Sum- 
mer was fast disappearing, and the rich, mellow 
tints, peculiar to decay, charmed the eye and 
inspired a pleasing melancholy. The wind, as 
it sighed through the trees, and the songs of the 
“ woodland choristers,” sounded unusually pen- 
sive to my listening ear. My mind had taken 
an impression corresponding with scenes around 
me, and I was not sorry to observe, at a short 
distance, a small burying ground. 

As I approached and entered, I was struck 
with its peculiarly neat and elegant appearance. 
The graves were mostly overgrown with grass, 
over which the weeping willow gently and 
mournfully waved its branches. But upon one 


A FLOWER NIPPED IN THE BUD. 


27 


I observed, shorter than most of the rest, that 
the sods were newly laid. I approached and 
read the epitaph. It was, 

Sacred to the Memory 
of 

Cynthia Ann. 

How I was struck ! It was the grave of my 
darling little cousin, who but a few weeks before 
was with us in all the angelic loveliness and inno- 
cent playfulness of childhood, the adored idol of 
her fond parents, and the love and delight of all 
who knew her. We little dreamed that death 
was so soon to lay those active limbs to rest — 
that her bright, laughing ‘eyes, were so soon to 
be forever closed ! 

“ So'fades the lovely, blooming flower.” 

But it is a sweet consolation to surviving 
friends, to think that her sinless spirit now rests 
far away from the sorrows of earth. Had she 
lived, she might have drank deeply of earth’s 
bitter cup of misery, but now she has escaped 
all this. A gem transplanted to her Saviour's 


28 


THE YOUNG PEOPLE’S KEEPSAKE. 


crown, she will shine forever in the realms 
above. 

Now sweetly rest thee, little one, 

Beneath the chilly sod, — 

Thine earthly race is quickly run — 

Thy spirit gone to God. 

We will not mourn that thou art gone 
Afar from grief and care — 

A sinless angel round the throne 
Of thy Redeemer there. 


VACATION. 

From day to day, for many a week, 

We’ve met the light of truth to seek 
Within these consecrated walls, 

If not in academic halls, — 

And though our tasks seem’d hard indeed, 
Our motto ’s “ Try if you’d succeed.” 

And we would fondly hope to day 
Our teacher’s kindness to repay 
By words, and looks, and actions kind, 
And the rich treasures of the mind : 


THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK. 


29 


We know that many faults appear 
Of conduct in our schoolmates here, — 
Be pleased to pass our errors by. 

Nor view them “ with a critic’s eye,” 
And we will try kind friends again 
No more your gen’rous hearts to pain 
By ought disgraceful, or unkind, 

Or errors of the youthful mind. 

We know that we have nought to boast. 
And thank you for forbearance most. 
Vacation now has come at length. 

And we would hope to gain new strength 
To climb steep science rugged hill, 

Whose honors all our vision fill. 

Adieu, kind teacher, schoolmates, friends. 
May each a bright vacation spend. 


THINK BEFORE YOU SPEAK. 

Doubtless most of my youthful readers will 
be ready to exclaim, “ What an old-fashioned 
subject ! ” u I wonder if anything new can be 
said upon a precept that I have heard repeated 
from my earliest days ? ” 


30 


TIIE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


Well, I do not expect to say anything new, 
hut I think that if we examine the subject, we 
shall see that we might have reduced it to prac- 
tice in many instances, where our thoughtless- 
ness produced serious results. Who can estimate 
the mischief produced by words spoken in un- 
guarded moments ? How often have unkind 
words injured the feelings of dearest friends ! 
And very often have careless words marred our 
own peace, and caused us to be less esteemed 
by others. How great is the unhappiness pro- 
duced by slander and evil speaking ! 

Now, all this might be avoided by thinking 
before we speak. A little forethought will some- 
times mitigate much misery. A word spoken 
in kindness and sympathy, may he the means of 
bringing gladness to an aching heart. u A soft 
answer turnetli away wrath.” 

It is of the utmost importance that a habit of 
forethought he formed in early youth. It will 
prove the safeguard for many evils as you pursue 
the journey of life. You will escape unharmed 
many dangerous shoals on which others more 


DISCRETION. 


31 


rash have made shipwreck of character and 
peace of mind. Yonr example will be for the 
benefit of society, and you will live at peace and 
with honor to yourselves, and be a blessing to 
others, and receive the approbation of a sin- 
liating God. 


DISCRETION. 

A FAIRY TALE. 

It was towards the close of a beautiful mid- 
summer day, when, tired of busy scenes and dull 
care, I sought to restore animation to my languid 
spirits by a walk to the sea-shore. 

Arriving at a quiet nook, I seated myself on 
a smooth stone on the sandy beach, to enjoy at 
leisure the enchanting prospect. The scene was 
such as poets love to describe, but are ever ready 
to own that language is inadequate. The sun 
was just sinking behind the distant hills, tinging 


32 


THE YOUNG PUPIL S KEEPSAKE. 


with golden and crimson hues the light clouds 
that floated near the western horizon. Not a 
zephyr disturbed the peaceful waters, that re- 
sembled liquid glass, tinged with many different 
hues. A few white sails appeared in the dis- 
tance, that doubtless were wafting homeward 
many fond hearts. Curious shells, the work of 
the inhabitants of the deep, lay thickly scattered 
around my feet. As 'I was examining these, 
and admiring their elaborate workmanship, I 
unconsciously fell into a deep reverie. 

I fancied that I was in a boat formed by some 
fairy hand out of a huge sea-shell. Swift as 
thought, I skimmed over the surface of the 
“ vasty deep.” After sailing thousands and 
thousands of miles, I at last anchored in a 
beautiful little bay, and found myself near a 
lovely island, reposing in quiet beauty amid the 
ocean waters. I landed, and rambled about to 
make observations. The ground w*as covered 
with verdure and flowers, interspersed with 
fragrant shrubs, and stately trees, around which 
were twined wreaths of ivy. 


DISCRETION. 


33 


I looked around to see if I could find “ the 
little thatched cottages of the natives,” but as I 
could see none, I concluded that I should enjoy 
“ sweet solitude.” I wandered o’er the fair 
landscape, through vale and o’er hill, being led 
onward by the novelty of the scenes, until at 
length, quite exhausted, I was glad to repose 
myself awhile beneath the shade of an arbor 
of evergreen. 

I was just beginning to think of the strange- 
ness of my situation, when I was startled at 
beholding before me a female, with a sedate, 
stern, dignified, yet beautiful countenance. She 
beckoned me to approach her. I attempted to 
do so with trembling, hesitating steps. Observ- 
ing which, she calmly said , u I perceive you have 
but little regard for, or else are unacquainted, 
with me.” u My name is Discretion.” u I dwell 
with Prudence and Industry in the vale of Con- 
tentment.” “ If you will forsake your fairy 
bower and come with me, I will conduct you to 
a land not indeed quite as beautiful as this, but 


34 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


where you may always dwell secure, and all is 
serene and substantial.” 

“ Though you do not perceive it, the air of 
this place is unhealthy, and many poisonous rep- 
tiles are lurking unseen amid the herbage. 
Even the flowers that appear so fragrant, are 
pestilential.” 

At first on hearing this speech, I was npt at 
all inclined to follow her. But observing her 
countenance more narrowly, I discovered evident 
traces of truth and candor, and I soorT resolved 
to abandon my fairy boat to the waves, and leave 
the enchanted, and, as I was now convinced, 
obnoxious island, and follow my companion, in 
whose society I now took much delight. 

And truly I began to see that Discretion was 
not to be despised, for on awaking from my rev- 
erie, I perceived that the chill dews of evening 
were falling around me, and that I had taken a 
violent cold. I hastened as quickly as my ach- 
ing limbs would allow me to my dwelling, resolv- 
ing firmly that I would no more indulge in idle 
fancies, but would encounter with resolution the 
stern realities of life. 


CLOUDS. 


35 


CLOUDS. 

We often look with admiration upon the 
varied appearance of the sky, and observe the 
changing hues and appearance of the clouds, 
and perhaps can remember the time when we 
enquired, “ What are they?” and it is interest- 
ing to think of the causes by which they are 
produced, and their use. 

The vapor that rises from the earth in the 
form of invisible mist, accumulates at length in 
the air, and forms the dark masses that are call- 
ed clouds. It is their different density and posi- 
tion with regard to the sun’s rays, that causes 
their beautifully variegated hues that we often 
admire. We sometimes wish for a cloudless 
sky, yet that is not always for the best. 

In the sultry days of Summer they defend us 
from the heat of a scorching sun, which might 
otherwise destroy vegetation and animal life, and 
in winter they serve as a protection against the 
intense cold. 


36 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


The rain, snow, and hail which 'falls from 
them, fertilize the earth. Were the moisture 
that falls from the clouds withheld even for a 
single season, we should look in vain for the 
vegetation that renders the earth such a pleasant 
abode, and is so necessary to sustain life, and 
we should only behold a barren waste. 

How great is the wisdom and benevolence 
that formed those floating masses, not only for 
use, but to give pleasure to the eye. Adversity 
is often compared to a cloud, yet who does not 
know that the heart is often made better by it ? 
Surely, we should never be disheartened, how- 
ever darkly clouds may gather around us, for 
tliey are frequently “ blessings in disguise.” 


THE APPROACH OF WINTER. 

The howling blast, the herbage sere, 
Tell us that Summer’s fled, — 

That wintry storms e’en now are here, 
And Autumn’s charms are dead. 


THE APPROACH OF WINTER. 


37 


Yet mourn we not that flowers decay, 
That dreary tempests rise, — 

Nor for our pleasures pass’d away 
With warmer, brighter skies. 

We each enjoy a shelt’ring home, 

With food and raiment too. 

While many houseless wand’rers roam, 
Whose wants we cannot view. 

Nor is cold W r iriter void of joy — 

Its evenings long are good. 

To feast the mind without alloy, 

With intellectual food. 

Who does not like a pleasant ride, 

With sleigh-bells jingling clear ? 

Or sliding down the smooth hill side 
With naught to di’ead or fear. 

Though some say Winter is a foe. 

Yet he is not unkind, 

And while his raging winds may blow, 
Let us improve the mind. 


3 * 


38 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


KNOWLEDGE ENNOBLES -A CONTRAST. 

Mary and Ellen were sisters, wlio resided 
with their parents in one of our pleasant eastern 
villages. They were good-humored, lively girls, 
and fondly attached to each other. They had 
each very bright, expressive eyes, and a profu- 
sion of sunny ringlets, while on their cheeks the 
rosy hue of health shone brightly. But there 
was a difference in their looks and appearance, 
that every one observed. Mary’s dark eyes re- 
vealed a depth of thought and feeling very un- 
usual. Ellen’s were light blue, and expressed 
mildness and vivacity. 

From infancy Mary had shown a fondness for 
learning, and preferred to be alone with her favor- 
ite books, rather than to enjoy the gayest social 
party, or walk with her companions ; yet if she 
chose she could be “ the gayest of the gay.” 
But there seemed to be some monitor ever re- 
minding her that “ life was short,” that she had 


KNOWLEDGE ENNOBLES. 


39 


much to do, and that it was wrong to spend her 
time in trifling amusements ; and thus her child- 
hood was marked with unusual seriousness and 
reflection. 

Sometimes, when urged by her mother to join 
her young companions in some innocent recrea- 
tion, she would say, with a smile, “ Mother, I 
would rather spend one sweet hour 4 sacred to 
thought,’ than weeks in play.” u Please, mother, 
to let me stay at home and read to you, or sit 
under the willow and hear the pretty birds sing 
while I learn my lesson. Do, dear mother!” 
And she would look so sweetly, and speak so 
imploringly, that she was sure to obtain her 
request. 

Her sister considered books the dullest things 
in the world, and much preferred chasing the gay 
butterfly over the verdant lawn, to the task of 
study. 

Time passed away, and these little girls found 
that they had arrived at an age when it was 
necessary that they should do something for 
their support, for their parents were not wealthy, 


40 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


and they had several younger brothers and 
sisters. Mary chose the teacher’s vocation, for 
she delighted to impart to others the knowledge 
that she took so much pleasure in acquiring. 
She was employed, when scarcely eighteen, as 
an assistant in a high school in the city of B., 
and was highly respected for her talents, learn- 
ing, and excellent character. I never knew a 
more amiable and accomplished young lady. 
Her personal attractions were not superior to 
many, but there was a' charm in her manners 
and conversation, quite irresistible. After per- 
suing her vocation a few years, winning the love 
of her pupils, and “ golden opinions of all,” she 
married a young lawyer, and went with him 
to reside in a beautiful mansion in one of the 
suburbs. 

In the meantime, Ellen was employed in a 
factory. She was still the same light-hearted, 
happy creature that she had been in early child- 
hood, but -while, by her affectionate disposition, 
she won the hearts of many, she failed, from 
the levity of her character, to secure the respect 


KNOWLEDGE ENNOBLES. 


41 


of the worthy and discerning. She married, at 
length, a gay young man, who “ had no steady 
employment,” and soon fell into habits of dissi- 
pation, by which her life was made wretched. 

We see from this brief narrative, the advan- 
tage of perseverance in the pursuit of knowledge. 
The- girls, whose characters I have faintly por- 
trayed, had each the same advantages for im- 
provement, and we see that one, by diligence 
and assiduity, found means to procure an excel- 
lent education. The time that others spent in 
idleness or foolish play, she devoted to study, 
and contrived to make everything subservient 
to her advancement in learning. 

Her sister, like too many other thoughtless 
children, thought of nothing but present enjoy- 
ment. She sported away her u childhood’s 
days,” and when she arrived at mature years, 
her habits were so confirmed in frivolity and 
idleness, that she found it almost impossible to 
apply herself to anything serious or useful. 

I hope that every child who reads the story 
of these girls, will try to imitate the excellencies 


42 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


in the character of the one, and avoid the defects 
of the other. It is right that children should 
have some amusements to promote their health 
and ardor of spirits, but they should reflect that 
however slowly the years may roll on, the period 
of childhood and youth will soon pass away, 
when it will be necessary for them to engage in 
the active duties of life 

And, in conclusion, allow me, dear children, 
to tell you, that if you wish to be happy, or use- 
ful, or respected when you become men and 
women, you must improve the time now in lay- 
ing up a store of knowledge, and in forming 
correct characters and virtuous dispositions, else, 
in after life, you ca*i expect “ to reap little but 
briers and thorns. ,, 


MOUNTAINS. 


43 


MOUNTAINS. 

Mountains, as every school-child knows, are 
vast elevations of land. Some send forth fire, 
smoke, and lava, or melted matter from their 
craters. Such are called volcanoes. Several 
mountains connected, form a chain, or range of 
mountains. 

Mountains are found in every country on the 
globe. Were it not for them the earth would 
appear as one vast monotonous plain. They 
serve to diversify the scenery, and for many 
other important purposes. The air is purer on 
them than in the vallies. Rivers have their 
source in mountains, and not unfrequently rich 
mines of precious metal are found in their sides. 
Some, as Pilot Knob and Iron Mount, are com- 
posed almost entirely of metallic substances. 
Others are productive nearly to their summits. 
The tops of the highest are always covered with 
snow, even in warm countries. 


44 


TIIE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


The Himalaya Mountains, in Asia, which are 
five and a half miles high, are said to be the 
highest in the world. 

The longest range of mountains is the Andes, 
which extends nearly the whole length of the 
continent of America, the Rocky and Mexican 
Cordileras of North America being a continua- 
tion of them. 

The most interesting mountains, on account 
of the associations connected with them, are 
found in Asia. There is Mount Lebanon, 
famed in the Scriptures for its cedars, and 
Mount Ararat, where the ark rested after the 
waters of the flood were abated. Sinai, where 
the Commandments were given by God to Moses, 
amid clouds, and thun derings, and lightnings, 
yet rears its lofty brow to the sky. There is 
Pisgah, where Moses obtained a view of the 
promised land, which he was not permitted to 
enter, and Tabor, the scene of the transfigura- 
tion. The Mount of Olives is also pointed out, 
that so often witnessed our Saviour’s prayers 
and instructions, and Calvary, where he met 
the cruel and ignominious death of the cross. 


PARTING SONG, ETC. 


45 


PARTING SONG POR A SCHOOL 

Long weeks have pass’d since first we met, 
Within these pleasant, hallowed walls. 

And ne’er shall we that time forget. 

Though far away stern duty calls. 

From day to day with cheerful heart 
We’ve met broad science field to scan; 

The time has come when we must part, — 
Shall we on earth e’er meet again ? 

The future all uncertain lies, — 

Perhaps we part to meet no more. 

Time with swift pinion ever hies, — 

Soon we shall reach th’ eternal shore. 

Then let us live that when at last 

Our summons comes to leave earth’s scene. 

We may review with joy the past. 

And go in peace with hope serene 

To that bright world where parting tears, 
And sighs, and fears, forever cease, — 

Where all in endless bloom appears — 

Where all is love, and joy, and peace. 

4 


46 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


We’ll hope to meet on earth again, 

But if Heaven that bliss denies, 
Removed from sickness, sorrow, pain, 
Shall we not meet beyond the skies ? 

With cheerful hope we’ll say farewell. 
With firm resolve for conduct good, 
Come weal, or woe, or ev’ry ill, 

To tempt us to despairing mood. 


•MY FIRST BOAT RIDE. 

It was a warm, sunny morning in J uly, when 
a friend of mine proposed that we should spend 
a short time previous to the hour for commenc- 
ing school, in rowing around a neighboring 
pond. I readily acceded to the proposal, and we 
accordingly started at about half-past seven 
o’clock, A. M., for the shore where the boat 
was locked, two of the party having gone be- 
fore to get the boat in readiness. 

Our path, for a considerable distance, lay 
through a pleasant grove, vocal with the cheer- 


MY FIRST BOAT RIDE. 


47 


ful songs of many birds, that were flitting about 
in their happiest mood. This afforded an agree- 
able shelter from the fierce rays of the sun, but 
we soon emerged from it, however, and found 
ourselves in the midst of a verdant, smooth 
pasture, where cattle and sheep were quietly 
feeding, and the hand of “light-footed Flora ” 
had been busy in bestowing her pretty gifts. 
We had not proceeded far, when we again 
entered a little thicket, just beyond which was 
the pond, a beautiful sheet of water, so transpa- 
rent that the trees and rocks around the shore 
were perfectly mirrored on its smooth surface. 
It was a mile in circumference, and the scenery 
around it appeared exceedingly pleasing and 
romantic. 

It was with a little trepidation that I entered 
the boat, but my companions assured me that 
there was no danger — that they had rowed 
many times. Two of them managed the oars, 
while the third, with a long, heavy oar, steered 
the boat. I began to feel a little at ease, when 
of a sudden I perceived that we were moving 


48 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


towards some knotty stumps, which just appear- 
ed above the water, and against one of these the 
boat presently struck, but it was removed with 
little difficulty, and directed towards some lilies 
that showed their pretty white heads just above 
the water, and seemed to invite us in that direc- 
tion. We collected as many of them as we 
wished, and then rowed towards a little island, 
not far from the shore, covered with grass and 
flowers. 

It was now nearly school-time, and we next 
steered for the landing place, where we soon 
arrived in safety, and I felt my spirits much ex- 
hilerated by this pleasant excursion. 


AN ADDRESS TO MY PUPILS. 

It was with a deep sense of the importance of 
my task, that I consented to become, for a brief 
season, your teacher, and as I have from day to 
day been engaged in my wonted avocation, I 


AN ADDRESS TO MY PUPILS. 


49 


have been more and more convinced of the 
arduousness of my employment, and the impos- 
sibility of rightly performing the duties devolv- 
ing upon me, unless actuated by the best of 
motives. 

To train the youthful mind to habits of recti- 
tude, to subdue wrong emotions, and substitute 
those that are purely good, to fix the wandering 
attention upon useful subjects, and teach the 
rudiments, and higher branches of learning to 
those to whom study “ is a hard task,” requires 
no trifling effort, and calls into action all the 
zeal, patience, and ingenuity of the teacher. 

But it is a cheering thought to the wearied, 
care-worn instructor of youth, that he is in the 
path of usefulness, however rugged at times his 
way may appear, and that if he performs his 
daily duties in a suitable temper of mind, he will 
ere long reap the reward of his faithfulness. 
But notwithstanding its irksomeness, there are 
many considerations that render teaching a 
pleasant employment. It has been called by 

an excellent poet, 

4 * 


50 THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 

“ Delightful task ! to train the youthful mind, 

To teach the young idea how to shoot.” 

Yes ! it is indeed pleasant to witness the ex- 
pansion of youthful intellect, and the progress 
of those principles of virtue that give promise 
of a life of honor and usefulness to their pos- 
sessor, and a consciousness of being the humble 
instrument of promoting virtue and intellectual 
improvement in the minds and hearts of the 
young immortals committed to his charge, 
should be to every teacher a source of heart- 
felt happiness. 

But, perhaps, if scholars in general were a 
little more careful to observe propriety of be- 
havior, the comfort and enjoyment of their 
teachers would be much promoted. It frequent- 
ly happens that the conducted of a few ill-dis- 
posed pupils is such as to lead their teachers to 
wish most sincerely to be free from the toils and 
cares of the school-room. Now, I presume, in 
many instances, thoughtlessness is the greatest 
fault that can be charged to such pupils. Yet 
that is unpardonable when we consider the 


AN ADDRESS TO MY PUPILS. 


51 


result. The greatest misfortunes and mischief 
often are the consequences of careless, thought- 
less habits. 

But it not unfrequently happens, that mali- 
ciousness, or an evident intention of causing 
disturbance is discernable in the conduct of 
some scholars. Such behavior is detestable, and 
the sure mark of a depraved mind. 

Young children, and youth, who indulge this 
temper of mind, will soon lose the esteem and 
confidence of the worthy and discerning, and, as 
they grow to riper years, and their intellects 
and passions increase, instead of proving bless- 
ings to society, they will help to increase the 
dark catalogue of crime and evil, and perhaps 
end their days in disgrace and wretchedness. 
O, that every school-room might be free from 
such pupils ! 

But I must hasten to speak of the duties of 
teachers, which I have already premised are 
many and arduous, among which may be reck- 
oned, 

1. Instructing in the various branches of edu- 


52 THE YOUNG PUPIl/S KEEPSAKE. 

cation, from the elements of the language, to the 
higher grades of learning. 

Most of you are not aware of the amount of 
toil, care, and perseverance required to teach a 
little child its alphabet. With a half a dozen 
a-b-c-darians, a teacher might occupy profitably 
the usual hours of school. But there are in 
most schools in the country, those who study 
grammar, geography, arithmetic, algebra, his- 
tory, physiology and philosophy, and of course 
there must be several classes in reading and 
spelling. Writing and composition must also 
be attended to, and sometimes drawing. Now, 
it is obvious, that to render instruction interest- 
ing and profitable in these various branches, re- 
quires much skill and labor, even when scholars 
show docile minds. But when we consider the 
dullness of some, and the unwillingness of others, 
to perform the tasks required of them, and the 
great diversity of talent that pupils have, we 
may well exclaim, “ Who is sufficient for these 
things ? ” 

2d. To correct the wayward dispositions of 


AN ADDRESS TO MY PUPILS. 


53 


some pupils, and encourage all to pursue tlie 
pleasant ways of wisdom, is no trifling task, and 
calls forth all the love, forbearance, patience and 
ingenuity of the teacher, and after all; he may 
not succeed to the extent of his wishes, and may 
experience in consequence much anxiety and 
uneasiness. Many an excellent teacher, in his 
anxiety to promote the welfare of those commit- 
ted to his charge, has so impaired his vigor and 
health, that he has found an early grave. 

3d. It is not only the duty of teachers to cul- 
tivate the intellect and morals of their pupils, 
but the true principles of religion should also be 
faithfully inculcated, in order to prepare the 
immortal mind for its higher destiny. This re- 
quires much zeal and faithfulness, and can only 
be practiced to advantage by those whose spirits 
are imbued with principles of piety, and a love 
of Christianity. 

These are among the principal duties of 
teachers, and those of scholars are not less 
numerous and important, among which may be 
mentioned, 


54 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


1st. Docility, or a teachable disposition. It 
is a painful fact, that some pupils, however much 
pains may be bestowed upon them, make but 
little improvement. This, I apprehend, is not so 
much owing to a want of capacity, as to a want 
of attention to instructions imparted. Such 
pupils are usually adepts in all sorts of mischief, 
and can easily learn all the vulgar and profane 
language that they may hear spoken. 

A docile pupil will always secure the respect 
and love of his teacher, his own self-respect, and 
the esteem of others, while he is fitting himself 
for a life of honor and usefulness. People of 
the greatest genius and ability, were usually 
docile scholars. 

2d. Respect for their teachers, and a suitable 
regard to their requirements. The treatment of 
some scholars is often a severe trial to the feel- 
ings of a worthy teacher. The home training 
of some is deficient, while others, naturally sel- 
fish, care little for the feelings or happiness of 
others. Such must try the patience and skill of 
their teachers, and certainly are undeserving of 


AN ADDRESS TO MY PUPILS. 


55 


respect. But there are usually, in every school, 
many who strive to observe propriety of conduct 
in every situation, and such would esteem it 
degrading to treat their teachers disrespectfully, 
and they do not fail to gain the love and admira- 
tion of the good. 

Respect for teachers, shows a noble and in- 
genuous spirit in scholars ; for those who love 
learning and its institutions, will have a regard 
for those who help them to acquire useful knowl- 
edge ; and that speaks much for their future re- 
spectability and usefulness. 

On the other hand, contempt of teachers and 
their authority, is the mark of a base, ignoble 
spirit, and those who cherish such dispositions 
not only render themselves disagreeable and dis- 
gusting to those with whom they associate in the 
walks of learning, but they are thus preparing 
for themselves much disgrace and wretchedness 
in future life, for true is the proverb, “ Whatso- 
ever a man soweth, that shall he also reap.” 

3d. Kindness to associates. There are many 
instances where the peace and usefulness of 


56 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


a school is nearly destroyed by the quarrelsome 
dispositions of some pupils. 

You will doubtless find, as you mingle in the 
society of various companions at school, much 
to excite vexation, to call for forbearance and 
charity. The manners of many are rude and 
disagreeable, and their sentiments low and vul- 
gar. You should be very careful not to imitate 
such, hut by politeness and good humor you 
may set them good examples, and perhaps be 
the means of ameliorating their characters. 

4th. Diligence in the improvement of time 
and abilities. Youth is emphatically the season 
when the mind is most susceptible to impres- 
sions, — when the perceptions are keen, and the 
memory retentive. It is then that the character 
is formed, and an inclination given to the 
thoughts and feelings that can never after be 
entirely counteracted. 

Pupils have various motives for diligence. 
Some will be studious merely to please their 
teachers and gain their approbation, — others 
study that they may obtain the scholar’s re- 


AN ADDRESS TO MY PUPILS. 


57 


nown ; but though there may he nothing par- 
ticularly wrong in this, yet they should be 
actuated by higher motives, — a desire to im- 
prove the abilities entrusted to them for useful- 
ness, and the glory of God. 

Our life, at the longest, is short, and we have 
much to accomplish to fit ourselves for happiness 
in the future world, to which all are hastening, 
and as by useful studies the mind and heart are 
cultivated and made more capable of rational 
enjoyment, how important is it that the suscep- 
tible season of youth be employed in the attain- 
ment of useful knowledge, that the understanding 
may not be u as a desert waste.” 

Many other duties might be enumerated, that 
are incumbent upon scholars ; but in this little 
volume it is not necessary. Doubtless you are 
all conscious of a spirit within that tells you the 
difference between right and wrong, and if you 
follow the guidance of that faithful monitor, you 
need never fatally err in your conduct. 

Finally, my dear pupils, let me urge you to 
press onward with vigor and alacrity up “ the 
5 


58 THE YOUNG PEOPLE’S KEEPSAKE. 

hill of science.” Let not trifles, nor real diffi- 
culties, impede your progress. The fair temple 
of fame lies before you, and you may reach it, 
and be crowned with lasting honors. But, above 
all, let integrity and uprightness of conduct be 
your motto, that your lives may be joyous and 
useful, and your departure from these earth- 
scenes triumphant. 


AN EVENING SONG. 

(from the german.) 

The silver moon is rising clear, — 

And now the golden stars appear 
In the arch’d heavens clear and bright, 
“As gems upon the brow of night; ** 
While the dense forest, dark and still, 
Stretches far up on yonder hill. 

And from the meadow, mists arise, 

Like evening incense to the skies. 

How all the world lies hushed and calm. 
Quite free from ev’ry rude alarm, — 


AN EVENING SONG. 


59 


She in her twilight veil is seen, 

All as inviting and serene, 

As a still room, where, quite forgot. 

You may indulge sweet pensive thought, 
And there in days of grief abide, 

And deep in sleep your sorrows hide. 

Appears the moon’s broad disk to you ? 
Only the half of it you view, — 

It is, though, beautiful and fair; 

So often things really are 
That excite the greatest mirth 
Because we do not see their worth, 
Hence we should ever cautious be. 

Not to judge false from what we see. 

We poor, foolish children of men, 

Are sinful creatures, weak and vain, 
And all our minds are dark and wild. 
With ev’ry sort of error filled; — 

How many an air-web we spin. 

While our thoughts rove wild within ! 
And though with various arts we try, 
We seldom reach our aim, if high. 

God grant that we may prosper’d be, 
And not delight in vanity, 

Let us be simple, true, and just , 

And in thy bounty ever trust, — 


60 THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 

As children free and happy be. 

While on earth we live before Thee ; — 

’Tis Thou that canst from harm defend, — 
For Thou our Father art, and Friend. 

And when at last Death’s summons come 
To take us to our final home, 

May we go free from pain or grief, 

And find the grave a sweet relief; 

And when thou takest us away. 

Oh may we come to realms of day. 

And with Thee, our Maker, Friend, 

Eternal ages may we spend. 

Now, as we lay us down to sleep, 

Wilt Thou our lives from all harm keep, 
And all our friends, and dear brother. 

Our kind father, too, and mother; — 

The evening air .is damp and cold, — 

Sleep to our neighbor sick and old. 

May strife, and noise, and tumult cease, 
And all the world rest now in peace ! 


WHO ARE THE HAPPIEST ? 


61 


WHO ARE THE HAPPIEST? 

Perhaps some of my young readers will say 
at once, those who live in splendid style, 'passing 
their time in u gay and fashionable amusements,” 
with an abundance of wealth at demand to sat- 
isfy almost every passing fancy or wish. 

But ask the wealthy and “refined voluptu- 
ary ” if he considers himself the happiest person 
in the world, and he will tell you, No indeed ! 
How miserable is my condition ! How unsatis- 
fying, how disgusting, are the pleasures with 
which I am surrounded ! O, for the pleasant, 
quiet retreat of the innocent laborer in some 
mountain glen, far from the noisy pleasures of 
ever bustling city ! 

But ask the laborer if he is satisfied with his 
condition, and very likely he will tell you, Very 
far from it ! It is nothing but work ! work ! 
How I envy the happy king, who sits at ease on 
a golden throne, or reclines on a silken couch, 
6 * 


62 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


whose every wish is instantly gratified, and who 
knows nothing by experience of the wants and 
miseries of other mortals ! 

At the same time, the king, whom he envies, 
may be one of the most unhappy persons in 
existence, so oppressed with care that he cannot 
regard the splendor with which he is surrounded, 
and in constant fear that his head, now adorned 
with the regal crown, will ere long be severed 
by the axe of the executioner. 

Thus we can imagine, if we choose, that all 
are happier than we, and be continually striving 
to attain happiness, that, phantom-like as we 
approach it, illudes our grasp. 

The miser may estimate his degrees of enjoy- 
ment by the dollars that he possesses, and the 
inebriate by the facility that he enjoys of obtain- 
ing the intoxicating draught. But we should 
certainly think that they were very far from the 
?oad to happiness. 

The child often thinks many things would 
render him happy, which, if obtained, would be 
positively injurious to him. 


SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS? 


63 


But it appears that mere external fortune lias 
but little influence in producing happiness, or the 
reverse. It is the disposition of a person that 
renders him happy or wretched. A peaceful, 
contented mind, will find happiness in any situ- 
ation, whilst a discontented mind, and one that 
is constantly ruffled by evil passions, will be con- 
tinually wretched. 

Hence we should certainly judge those the 
happiest who govern their passions, and are con- 
tented with their present condition, with well 
founded hopes for the future. 


SEARCH EOR HAPPINESS. 

One day I chanced to be displeas’d, 

And wond’ring if I could be eas’d, 

I thought I’d ramble far and near, 

And often lend a listening ear 
To all that promis’d to relieve 
My anxious mind too prone to grieve. 
And offered aught of peace or joy, 

Or happiness without alloy. 

Whilst thus I wander’d, fiist, I found 
A friend upon a rising ground : 


64 


TIIE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


To find you I am glad said he — 

Come, gentle stranger, follow me — 

My name is Wealth , I live at ease, 

You can enjoy me if you please; 

I’ll load your hoard with dainties rare, 

Place silken cushions in your chair. 

Dress you in robes of richest dye, 

And place you in a carriage high 
Drawn by a span of prancing steeds 
With silver trappings round their heads, 

And by a skillful coachman driven, 

Whene’er to go the word is given. 

See you yon palace gorgeous bright, 

That gleams so strangely in the light 
Of the warm sun’s declining rays ? 

Too fair it is for vulgar praise, — 

’T is there I dwell, — now come with me. 

And you shall this fair prospect see. 

I smiled assent, — we onward went. 

For now the day was well nigh spent. 

As we approached the gate before, 

’T was guarded by four dogs or more; 

By bolt, and lock, ’twas fasten’d strong — 

We knock’d and knock’d, and waited long, — 
I ask’d my friend what all this meant. 

Said he, they’re here with this intent, — 

To guard my house from robbers bold, 

Who sometimes come to search for gold. 


SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS. 


I did not say a word, but thought 
That happiness was dearly bought, 

If e’en indeed it here was found ; 

But then again, on looking round, 

I sawTall trees, that, waving high, 
Seemed with the lofty clouds to vie ; — 
Beneath their shade sweet flowers bloom'd, 
And with their breath the air perfum’d. 
While birds of many a brilliant hue, 
Amid their branches sang in view, — 
And, as I stay’d in wond’ring state 
A servant came, and ope’d the gate; — 
Then, as I s ood within the doors. 

And looked upon the marble floors, 

The glittering gold, the spacious rooms 
Scented with many rich perfumes — 
Surely, said I, here pleasures dwell 
Such as wise people never tell. 

I was shown a room all cover’d o’er 
With a silken carpet on the floor, — 

A sofa, on which to lay my head, 

Or, if I chose, an eider bed, — 

And, with my journey wearied quite, 

Joy, peace, and rest, I thought I might 
Undoubted find in that sweet spot. 

And all my cares be quite forgot : — 

So, quickly to my couch I went — 

In waking dreams the night was spent. 


66 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE 


To such a bed I was not us’d. 

And wish’d for sleep, its aid refus’d; — 
Then, as I lay in state awake. 

And many a query did make, 

I heard such jangling sounds below, 

As led me to resolve to go 
Upon my way, soon as the sun 
His daily race should have begun. 

I rested here until the morn , 

Then told my friend I must be gone, 

For as yet I nothing sure had seen 
’Mid all the splendors I had been 
Of solid happiness — long sought — 
Nor had I yet a single thought 
To spend my life in a lothful ease, 

If it could not me better please. 

At morning, with the early sun, 

I had my journey well begun, 

And then, true, before many hours, 
And ere the dew was off the flowers, 
Another friend I chanc’d to meet 
In the town of L — , Hubbub street. 
Says he, this is a dusty place — 

Let us our steps out of it trace ! 

And soon we were in a place as fair 
As ever was fann’d by earthly air ! 
Here, gentle stranger, sit thee down, 
And hear the news that’s in the town ! 


SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS 


67 


They say, there is an office there — 

But now I do not well know where, 

And you can find it. If you seek 
I think you’ll find it in a week — 

Then fame with trumpet tongue will blaze 
Your name, your honor, and your praise. 
Ah ! Friend, said I, what is your name ? 
Ambition. ’T is the very same r— 

Follow me, and you shall find 
Pleasures sweet of many a kind ! 

I follow’d, and soon found, ’tis true, 
What then to me was wholly new. 

Fame a mere phantom, airy breath, 

Yet oft deceiving by its stealth — 

Which, when no sooner had I found, 
Than quick I turned my footsteps round. 
Bade mean Ambition long adieu. 

Fair happiness then to pursue; 

And many a doubt began to rise 
If now she dwelt beneath the skies, — 

I had not wander’d long before 
I stopped just by a cottage door. 

In truth, I’d often heard it said 
That those who earn’d their daily bread 
Were happier than those at ease, 

With their varied whims to please. 

And so I thought perhaps I might 
Of happiness obtained a sight 


68 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 


E’en in this place so poor and rude 
The proud would never deign intrude. 

So with high hopes I ope’d the door, 

And sat me down upon the floor ! 

For not a chair was offer’d me, 

Nor could I stool, or table see : 

Four tatter’d children hungry sat 
Around, upon an old straw mat, 

And oft they ask’d for bread in vain ! — 
How did their moaning give me pain ! 
Their mother sick upon her bed 
Could scarcely raise her aching head, 
The father, there, I did not see — 

When I enquired, they said to me 
That he of pinching want had died. 

How sad your lot ! I quick replied. 

In pain I gaz’d upon the sight, 

And after asking if I might 
Some aid afford, I quick withdrew, 

For then indeed quite well I knew 
That here I could not hope to find 
The darling object of my mind. 

Then, faint, with aching limbs I rov’d, 
And many a weary mile I trode, 
Reflecting quite in solitude; 

And oft in a serious mood 
Wonder’d if happiness was found 
In aught, the whole wide world around ! 


SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS. 


69 


I wander’d till the evening shades 
Had fallen upon the greenwood glades. 
When in a wood I chanc’d to see 
What then to me appear’d to be 
The glimmer of a transient light, 

But soon I saw it grew more bright — 

I paus’d, advanced, with trembling fear 
To view the spectre yet more near; 

And then as I approach’d the spot. 

Each anxious fear I soon forgot : 

I saw a cottage neat, but small. 
Surrounded by a brushwood wall, — 

Its humble walls no paint had seen, 

And all embrown’d with age had been, — 
Within the garden neatly kept 
A few wild flow’rs had stealthily crept. 
While useful plants, if not the rare, 

Were nurtur’d with apparent care, — 

It was a hermit’s dwelling place. 

With naught its lowly walls to grace, — 
Now weary with my toil and care, 

I well could rest me anywhere — 

Nor was I sorry here to find 
A place well suited to my mind ; — 

I knock’d, the aged sire ope’d the door, 
Placed me a stool upon the floor, 

Kindly enquir’d for my health, 

Nor did he ask me of my wealth, 

6 


70 


THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 

As he freely gave me food to eat. 

And water to bathe my wear y feet; 

We spent the eve in friendly chat, 

Talking about this thing, and that, 

For, many a year my friend had spent 
In this retreat, and all intent 
In serving Gojl, as best he knew. 

How e’er the world his life might view; 
And never mortal had he seen 
Since in this quiet place he’d been. 

No wonder that he wished to know 
What had transpir’d on earth below. 

And many a question he ask’d 
Of what in other climes had pass’d, — . 

We talk’d until the stars’ mild light 
Told us the time was past midnight — 
When he my humble cot prepar’d, 

To which I gladly quick repair’d; 

In sleep I spent a dreamless night. 

And woke at morn refreshed quite — 

I found the breakfast table laid. 

Many a dainty on it spread, 

Which my good host had sometime found 
In taking daily walks around, 

And laid secure, with pious care, 

That some poor pilgrim might it share, — 
The breakfast o’er — at early dawn 
I thought to ramble o’er the lawn — 


SEARCH FOR HAPPINESS. 


71 


But ere my journey I began, 

The hermit, hospitable man, 

Urg’d me at least another day 
If no more to prolong my stay. 

’Twas then I told him all my route. 
And what was still my sole pursuit. 
“Ah, friend,” said he, “ I greatly fear 
That if you wander far and near, 

You will not find the long sought prize, 
Beneath these fair terrestrial skies ; — 
For long I sought for it in vain, 

Nor should I do the same again, 

Since now I know a better way. 

Which I will tell without delay ; 
Happiness never can be bought. 

Seldom is found when eager sought, — 

It comes to those content to find 
A charm well suited to the mind. 

In each event of life they see, 

And who where’er their lot may be 
Are thankful for their blessings giv’n 
Receive them as a boon fromheav’n, — 
Who murmur not when ills betide 
As o’er life’s treach’rous sea they ride, 
And when their voyage all is o’er 
Expect to reach a better shore. 

Then seek no more, but be content, 

For now much of your life is spent 


72 THE YOUNG PUPIL’S KEEPSAKE. 

In what has been a vain pursuit 
To reach joys bright, and golden fruit; — 
Do well the task assign’d to you, 

And soon the long sought prize you’ll view 
Be quite contented with your lot, — 

Let care, and grief, be all forgot, — 

In all the duties you fulfil, 

0 strive to do your Maker’s will ! 

Then will you ever happy be 
Both here, and in eternity.” 


j 1 * 6 1 , 


THE END. 



























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